by Shona Husk
Enchanting Absinthe
Shona Husk
Book 4 in the Sex with Strings series.
Claire Winters is two days away from taking her place in the Shamanic Council’s Genetic Protection Program. To keep the fragile bloodline strong, every Shaman female must have one pure Shaman child. Tonight Claire wants one last fling, and she has the lead violinist of Lucinda’s Lover in her sights—even though lustful liaisons with Vampires are strictly forbidden.
Absinthe has shunned long-term relationships for so long he’s not sure he knows how to do anything but one-night stands. A forbidden hybrid of Shaman and Vampire, he has the ability to draw power during shows and enchant people—usually women—out of their panties. But when he chooses Claire, and a quickie backstage turns into a passionate night he can’t forget, he isn’t sure who is enchanting who.
Enchanting Absinthe
Shona Husk
Chapter One
The Red C was one of the hottest clubs in Sydney. Tonight it was the place to be. Behind Claire the line of people waiting to get in stretched up the block like a multicolored, half-drunken centipede. Lucinda’s Lover was playing and people had moved fast, even the humans, to secure tickets. There was a rumor that there wouldn’t be another tour. Claire hoped it was just that, a rumor, but she wouldn’t be surprised if there was truth behind it. Vampires couldn’t stay in the public eye for too long before needing to vanish and after over a decade of performing, Lucinda’s Lover was nearing the end of their time in the spotlight.
Another one of her favorite bands gone for good. But tonight wasn’t about the music. She was here to see Absinthe, the lead violinist. Last time she’d watched the Vamps play and tried to get Absinthe’s attention with magic, he’d passed her over for a human. She wouldn’t make that same mistake again. Tonight he’d pick her as his after-show entertainment. And if he didn’t? Claire refused to consider the possibility. This was her night. The last night of freedom she would get before bowing to the Shamanic Council’s ruling.
Stupid Council laws. They also forbade Shaman-Vampire liaisons, a fact she was ignoring tonight, along with all of their other regulations. Tonight she was pretending to be human.
Claire bounced on her feet, unable to keep still. There were only a few people between her and the guarded door. Two bouncers were checking tickets. Neither were human, but she didn’t risk opened her third eye to check what they were, not with so many humans around. Closed, her lashless third eye resembled a deep frown line and she passed for human. She presented her ticket, the bounder tore off the end and stamped her wrist. Deception. That was the album they were touring to promote.
The bouncer tipped his head, “In yer go.”
The wall of sound nearly knocked Claire on her ass. Music pumped over the sound system as people darted about on stage setting up. While Lucinda’s Lover did play big venues, the clubs were better. More intimate. And she wanted to be as close as possible to the Vamps. To Absinthe.
But first she had to catch his eye, which wasn’t going to be easy. The Red C was filled to capacity. People, non-humans and humans, crawled over every surface. The dance floor in the pit below was nothing more than a sea of limbs. Extra security lined the walls, not bothering to blend with patrons. If the humans knew what was standing next to them, they might have stayed home.
Claire ran a hand through her short copper hair, a magical match to her form-hugging bustier. She intended to stand out in a sea of mostly black. That would be easier if she was above the swell of bodies. She eased up the stairs and went to the bar, where she ordered a green-colored pre-mixed vodka and something—she didn’t care about the flavor, just the color. Had to be green. She smiled at the bartender, then slid a hand into her top and pulled out her club card for him to scan. The only reason she’d managed to get a ticket was because members had gotten first dibs.
She needed to drink up and forget everything that was going to happen in two days’ time. This was her last night of freedom and she intended to misspend it in every way possible. While it was true Shamen drew power from sex as well as nature, she was only looking for sex tonight. She eyed the stage. How far away were they from coming on? How long would Absinthe scan the crowd, looking for someone to take backstage after the show, before deciding? She knew that Absinthe wasn’t playing fair, not that she cared.
Two could play that game.
What she wanted to know was how he’d done it. Vampires were many things, but magical wasn’t one of them. Yet he was using some kind of spell on the person he selected. Whatever it was, she didn’t care. She could more than match anything he threw out. But that hadn’t been what he’d wanted last time. He’d deliberately avoided non-humans. Not for the first time, she wished she was human—and not just because it would increase her chances of getting picked by Absinthe.
Claire leaned over the railing to watch the pit. She’d move down later, after Lucinda’s Lover had hit the stage. After he’d seen her clearly. And if he didn’t? And he selected someone else? No. Tonight was hers. Fate owed her that much.
In mock salute she raised the bottle. “To the breeding program,” she muttered.
She took a swig from the bottle. The vodka was sweet and cold, but did nothing to unravel the knots in her stomach. In two days she would be thirty and take her place in the Shaman Genetic Protection Program, ensuring the survival of the species. Female Shamen got screwed, and not in the way she liked.
“Here’s to the Council fucking my life again.” The easy option would’ve been to find a Shaman man and marry and have pure-bred Shaman babies just like the Council wanted. It had worked for her parents, but she wanted more than doing stuff because she was told to by some archaic Council only concerned with its extensive family trees.
She took another drink and knew she was letting bitterness take a hold. If the Council did nothing, then Shamen as a species would be gone. It was genetically double recessive and even then needed magical help. Despite the Council’s best efforts, numbers were dwindling. She closed her eyes. Maybe if she’d landed on the right Shaman’s lap and he’d wanted more than babies from her, she’d have been happy.
But it was her life, and Fate be damned, she wanted to live it her way.
The lights went out as she opened her eyes. The jagged pulsing music stopped. Silence blanketed the club, smothering the ringing in her ears. Her heart doubled in size. The air became charged and the static plucked the hairs on her neck. Expectation manifested, consuming everyone in the club. Not one foot moved.
This is it.
“I bid you welcome.”
His voice slid out of the speakers. She recognized it from another gig four years ago, but she’d remember it until she died. An unplaceable accent that hinted at desire as if he intended to seduce every person in the club. She could only imagine what having that voice whispering in her ear would feel like. Her blood warmed and she gripped her bottle of vodka tighter.
One long low note reverberated, that would be Phoenix on the cello. Her ribs hummed. A soft light blossomed on the stage, revealing Absinthe. His electric violin dangled from his left hand, his right caressed the microphone. Absinthe’s gaze swept over the club.
Claire’s tongue flicked over her lower lip. She couldn’t help but lean forward, her toes curling inside her boots. Absinthe was why she was here. Tonight she was going to live the dream. He was going to be hers.
Absinthe tilted the microphone stand. “Are you ready to sweat?”
Lights flared over the audience. The raw notes from the electric strings started a foot-stamping tempo, one of their older tunes, drowning out the cheers from the crowd.
They were as hot as hell. Satan’s answer to classical music according to a review of their latest album. They twisted classics and had written their own.
The last time she’d seen them play, she’d seen Absinthe’s little habit in action. Felt the magic twist in the air as he’d played. Watched him lure in a woman, wrapping her in magic he shouldn’t possess. It had to be in the violin or something in the music.
Tonight the magic was stronger. Because she was paying attention? It whipped around the room like a snapped high-voltage cable. Leaving a tang in the air that no one but a Shaman would taste. If he created this much magic with his music, the amount produced during sex would be a burn beyond compare. But it wasn’t the magic she wanted. She wanted the man. While Vampires weren’t her thing, for him she’d make an exception. Looking the way he did, she didn’t care what kind of non-human he was.
Dark hair fell over one eye as if he was in need of a haircut, yesterday’s stubble lined his jaw and he had a body that demanded to be touched. His skin was smooth like caramel but etched with the muscle beneath. She pinched her tongue between her teeth. Yeah, she wasn’t the only person looking at him like that. There was just something about him, a presence that took up the stage—yet he acted as if he didn’t notice. He never stood for too long at the front, always letting the others have their time to shine.
Claire briefly entertained the idea of using a little of her own magic to ensure his attention. But as she watched, his gaze slid past a gaggle of Shamen on the left side of the pit. He wasn’t interested in the magic or the Shamen. Her magic was coiled, ready for use, but she pressed it down. She’d do this the old-fashioned way. Her feet found the stairs and she worked her way slowly down. A couple of times she glanced at the stage, once she thought she’d caught his eye, but she couldn’t be sure.
She could just slap her own enchantment around him, but that would take the fun away—and also his free will. No matter what other Shamen did, she wouldn’t woo someone to her bed with magic. It just wasn’t the same.
So why did Absinthe do it?
He could have any woman here, and a few of the men if the rumors online were true. He didn’t need magic to score and yet he used it. She wanted to know why. Her feet hit the floor of the pit, but she didn’t bother fighting to get to the front. Instead she found a place near the wall—where the lights would hit her when they were flicked on the audience. She’d been watching, planning.
She would be the woman drawn into his enchantment.
She would get that backstage pass.
And she’d get Absinthe.
The hunt was on and failure wasn’t an option. Claire glanced around the club. There were plenty of men here she could pick up and have fun with. She glanced back at the stage and her heart gave an extra beat. But it wouldn’t be the same.
If Lucinda’s Lover were really breaking up, this would be her last shot at Absinthe. Maybe a little magic…something subtle, not like the I-want-to-fuck-you spells the other Shamen were creating to lure in a lover for the night. Something that would catch his magic’s attention and hopefully, gradually get his attention.
And if he still looked away? She’d have to let that desire go and find someone else to fill her need. She glanced around the club. While there were plenty of men, including Vamps, and even some attractive ones, none were like Absinthe. It wasn’t that he was Vampire and forbidden, it was because he was Absinthe—full of lust and life and mystery. She sighed and looked at her drink, a more lurid shade of green than his eyes. Come on, Fate, one night. One night to live the dream and be Absinthe’s chosen one.
Absinthe let the energy of the crowd wash over him. In a small venue like this it didn’t take long to build—a mix of excitement and sex. Humans thought it was the atmosphere of a live event. In part that was true. The rest was magic created from the amped-up emotions. Magic he used to serve his own interest. The club was full, with a good representation of everything—Were, Vampires, humans…the group of Shamen to the side of the stage. No doubt they were pulling something out the air and getting a magical boost the same as him. His lip didn’t curl in distaste. Couldn’t when so many watched him. They loved Absinthe…he knew they wouldn’t feel the same way about William if they knew what he was.
He let himself fall into the music as if he was part of it. It was so easy; he’d done it so many times before. But every time his gaze skimmed past the crowd, it got stuck on a woman in a copper-colored corset. Stuck was the right word. His gaze was drawn to her. Even though it was too early in the show to pick anyone for his after-show entertainment, he could feel his magic seeking her out. He couldn’t hold an enchantment for a whole show, so he tried to rein it back in.
Never before had anyone called to him like that.
He grinned and stamped his feet as they tumbled into the next song. His bow tapped on his leg. This was supposedly his breather. What the hell was she?
If she wasn’t human, that was a risk. He liked to know what species he was fucking. He also liked to make sure there’d be no backlash, so he was very careful, always making sure his intended could slip free before he closed the magical noose. But at the back of his mind he worried that he was turning into his father.
However, he couldn’t bring himself to actually talk to someone and run the risk of them wanting more than something fast and furious backstage. He was quite happy hiding behind his stage name. Happy maybe wasn’t the word, but it worked.
The lights dipped to something softer, more melancholy. One of his favorites. Tonight all it did was echo the loss. They were playing out their last few months of shows before it was over. The others were all hooked-up, so he’d have no one to go picking up with.
He glanced at Owen. But William knew he didn’t have what it took to make a long-term relationship work. Sooner or later he’d screw up and magic would ruin it all again. He’d been burned more than once. Relationships by definition created their own magic, a bond that was easy to manipulate by accident or design. And he’d abused that, with Owen, with Margarite…and then he’d stopped bothering.
His gaze slid back to the woman in copper. While he couldn’t hold an enchantment, he could certainly give her a test and see if she’d be open to being seduced by magic.
A bead of sweat ran down Absinthe’s chest as he played. Claire followed its path as it slid into his black leather pants. Her lips parted in a silent sigh and she let her gaze linger on the way he filled the pants before dragging her eyes up. He had a tan that didn’t come from the sun. But it was watching the muscles move beneath his skin that was her undoing.
Fluid and without thought, his form was terrible compared to Sirius, but Absinthe could’ve played any tune in his sleep more perfectly than it had been created. Whatever he played made her think of sex. Maybe it was the way his fingers moved over the strings, or the curve of his lips and the way a lock of black hair fell over his hypnotic green eyes.
As if he was playing for her alone.
Music should not be this dirty.
Around her, softly at first, she felt the slide of magic on her skin. She lifted her gaze and met his. He was playing for her. He was testing her out, to see if she’d be willing. While she could feel what the spell wanted, she was immune to its effects. Immediately her magic rose and wanted to be used. Just being here was making her body hum with power. But she didn’t want power or magic. Tonight she just wanted to be human. They didn’t know how lucky they had it. No Council to rule them, no magic that had to be controlled all the time and no third eye that had to be hidden behind bangs.
With a wrench of will, she bundled up her magic and imagined stuffing it deep inside her, wishing she could fall under his enchantment and forget what she
was. The next best thing was to fake it.
Claire brought the bottle of her vodka to her lips, her gaze never leaving his. The alcohol didn’t slake her thirst. As the magic swelled, she relaxed as if succumbing, welcoming, his unspoken advance. The whole time he played, never missing a note or a choreographed move, and she couldn’t take her eyes of him. She might be immune to Absinthe’s magic. But she wasn’t immune to the man.
Every glance froze her breath. Every touch from the magic made her skin jump. Every inch of her was slick. Watching him, she squirmed, her clothes too tight. Her body throbbed with the beat. She knew he was toying with her. Waiting to see how far she was willing to go. That made her like him a little more. While many of the women would be willing, when it came to the crunch, she suspected most would hesitate. And Absinthe was enough of a gentleman to let them go.
It was reassuring to know he wasn’t misusing the magic.
Curiosity burned hot in her blood, she needed to know how he was creating the spell. It wasn’t a particular song or even just one violin, as he’d changed instruments several times. Without dragging her magic out and opening up her third eye, she wouldn’t be able to tell. She shook her head. She had to stop thinking like a Shaman and think like a human. Well, a human without the post-Victorian hang-ups about sex.
The music stopped. The magic that had been swirling around her vanished.
Claire’s head snapped up to look at him. He hadn’t picked her. She glanced around, had he picked anyone? Who else had he been testing out?
Damn it. That wasn’t fair. Just once she wanted something for herself, thumbing her nose at the Council’s rules was an added bonus.
Stagehands darted across the stage, swapping instruments. The guys took drinks but didn’t bother wiping the sweat from their skin. They glistened. Claire’s fingers curled by her side, what she’d give to run her hands over Absinthe.
“Last show in Sydney.” Absinthe raised a bottle of beer and took a swig. “You’re an awesome crowd.”